I went and sat on the hassock at Tiberius’ feet, ignoring Stoker entirely. I leant forward, placing my hands in Tiberius’. “Did you know?”
His brows quirked up inquisitively. “Did I know?”
I tightened my grip, my gaze never leaving his.“Did you know?”
He did not speak for a long moment, and when he did, he paid me the compliment of the truth. “I did.”
“How? Was it in the telegram she sent you before she married him?”
He gave a slow nod. Stoker stirred but did not interrupt.
“By the time I received the telegram, she was already missing and my child with her,” Tiberius said. Stoker’s eyes were bright with inquiry but I continued to ignore him.
“Tiberius, you have not been forthright with us. Tell us now why you have come here.”
His expression hardened. “Malcolm married the woman I loved and for whatever reason, he failed her—failed her so badly that she fled. Or took her own life. Or was murdered. If someone has hounded Malcolm to death for it, then I would like to know who so that I may take them by the hand and convey my thanks.”
I had never heard him speak so bitterly, and it was a moment before I could form a reply. “You surprise me, my lord,” I said gently. “I hadn’t realized you shared Stoker’s capacity for rage.”
“Share it?” he mocked. “My dear lady, I taught it to him. Now, I should like very much to discover the truth of what has happened to Malcolm.”
“And Rosamund,” Stoker put in steadily.
The brothers squared off in a posture that was no doubt familiar to them from their boyhood days of brawling. “Yes. I do want to know precisely what happened to her.”
“Well, I am glad you are man enough to concede you have an ulterior purpose.”
Tiberius’ handsome mouth curled. “Brother mine, I thought you learnt long ago—even my ulterior purposes have ulterior purposes.”
Stoker returned the smile. “Such as murdering Malcolm Romilly?”
I blinked at him. “Stoker, what on earth—”
“I searched Tiberius’ room when you were talking to Daisy. He has a revolver hidden in his bag. He does not habitually travel with one, and a sleepy isle off the coast of Cornwall is not exactly a thiving hive of dangerous criminal activity. Therefore, why would he choose to arm himself this time, I ask myself. Why come here at all and suffer the tortures of Rosamund’s disappearance resurrected? Unless he decided to take matters into his own hands.”
“Stoker, you cannot—”
“Accuse my own brother of plotting a murder? Of course I can. In fact, I accuse him of carrying it out.”
“You bloody fool,” Tiberius began with a thin smile.
“Am I?” Stoker crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll stake my life on you being up to your lordly neck in this business and take my chances.”
They stood toe-to-toe for a long, breathless minute. There was no sound except the ticking of a particularly ugly mantel clock until at last Tiberius expelled a deep breath and let his shoulders soften. “Very well. I came here to kill Malcolm. Is that enough of a confession for you or shall I write it in my heart’s blood?”
Stoker’s expression barely shifted but I caught the triumphant flicker in his eyes. I hurried to speak before he goaded his brother to further violence. “Tiberius, perhaps you would care to start at the beginning.”
He shrugged. “There is not much to tell. When Rosamund disappeared, no one knew precisely what had happened. Theories abounded, each wilder than the last. It was suggested that she had thrown herself into the sea or that she had gone off in a passing boat. Some said she was murdered, others that she had turned into a dove and flown away on the west wind. That last contribution was from the more superstitious villagers,” he added with a cold smile. “No body was ever recovered, no note or witness ever produced to say one way or another what became of her. Malcolm was advised that he could apply to have her pronounced legally dead if she had not been heard from in seven years. For three years, there has been nothing. Then, quite out of the blue, Malcolm wrote me a fortnight ago. He said he had discovered proof that Rosamund did not leave the island of her own free will and he wanted me to come here because he wanted to discover the truth.”
“Did he tell you anything more?” I prodded.
“No. Only that he trusted me because I had not been here during her disappearance and because he knew that Rosamund and I were barely acquainted and therefore I could have had no motive for harming her. Itwas that bland little reassurance that taunted me. I read it over and over again, and it suddenly occurred to me,What if he had known?He might have discovered our feelings quite by chance. Rosamund sometimes kept a diary and she was not always careful with it. What if it had come to light and Malcolm learnt of our relationship? Might he have intended to lure me here under false pretenses? Could a maidservant have known? Had Rosamund confided in her schoolmate Mertensia? The more I considered the matter, the more possible loose ends I imagined. And any one of them might have exposed us.”
“And so you determined to come and discover the truth for yourself,” I added.
“More than that. I always resented the fact that whatever had become of her, he had not been able to prevent it. Had she run away? Then he must have been the source of her unhappiness. In choosing Malcolm for her husband, she must have believed he would bring her comfort and companionship. Somehow he had failed her. And then his letter came, claiming he had proof she had been harmed, and that is when I became angry, blindly, redly angry. All I could think was that he had been able to do the one thing denied me—marry the woman he loved—and he had lost her. He had not kept her safe. He had not protected her. And I wanted justice for Rosamund’s sake, visited both upon her murderer and upon the man who had let it happen. So I decided to come here, prepared to deal justice if necessary.”
“How did we fit into your plan?” I inquired.
